


Danger Zone

by indigo_carter



Series: Supernatural Hurt/Comfort [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, bit of spn lamp smashing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-28
Updated: 2015-05-28
Packaged: 2018-04-01 16:33:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4026979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indigo_carter/pseuds/indigo_carter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: this gif set</p><p>Character: Dean Winchester</p><p>Author: Frankie (spnsmutscribe)</p><p>Reader Gender: Female</p><p>Word Count: 1,000</p><p>Warnings: Violence from Dean. Bit of blood?</p><p>A/N: This isn’t a request. It isn’t anything which was in my queue. It is, however, something I could write. And so I’m sorry that it isn’t a request, but I won’t apologise for putting out something which I found it easy to write!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Danger Zone

You curled up as tight as you could in the corner of the room, your eyes tracking him as he moved. Anger, frustration, filled his face, as he scrubbed his hands in the motel sink. Without moving his eyes from the running water, he drew back one fist and slammed it into the mirror on the wall. The glass shattered, but didn’t fall. Twisting, he slammed the hair dryer off the wall with both hands, lifted the TV from its stand and smashed it onto the floor, barely seeming to feel the effort in the movement. Next, a lamp went flying, the delicate glass of the bulb tinkling as it broke. He turned, looking for something else to break. His eyes landed on the chair by the crappy desk, and, picking it up, he smashed it over the desk’s surface before flinging it towards your corner. You stifled a cry and ducked out of the way. Giving the bed a final vicious kick, his head dropped, his energy spent. He stood in the midst of his destruction, looking hopeless and lost, the expression of frustration melting into one of horror and self-loathing. Pity, and love, and overwhelming sadness bloomed in the pit of your stomach, and you risked moving from your corner. Standing, you pressed yourself against the wall, hands raised in surrender.

“Shit.” His eyes landed on you, something like regret flaring in his face before being replaced by chagrin.

“Dean…” you let your hands drop to your sides, twisting your fingers nervously in your jeans.

“I-uh, I think you should leave.” He was monotone, gripping onto his barely-there sense of self.

“I can’t leave you like this.” You weren’t sure what drove you to say it, your voice cracking in all the wrong places, eyes fixed on the blood now running freely from his knuckles.

“You can’t stay here with me like this, Y/N.” His eyes followed yours to the blood dripping onto the floor and he gave a frustrated shake. “I…”

“I know you’re not in control. I know you’re scared.”

“I don’t know what to do with myself!” Anger rippled through him again, and you shrank back against the wall. “Sorry, sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.” Your voice emerged as a squeak, adrenaline flooding your system.

“You don’t sound sure about that.”

“I’m sure, Dean. Let me…let me get the blood off?” You tried to sound as practical as you could, taking a tiny step forwards into the room.

“Do you think touching me is a good idea?”

“For god’s sake, Dean. You’re not infectious. Let me deal with the blood and then I’ll go, if that’s what you want.” Frustration burst through your voice; you had no intention of leaving, but you knew that negotiating was the only way you could persuade him to let you stay and calm him down. Walking towards him with tiny steps, hands held where he could see them, you hoped you’d be able to calm him. Normally, you were the only thing which could reduce the rages caused by the darkness filling him, but today’s events shattered any previous experience you’d had of calming him down.

Finally reaching Dean, you rested one hand on his elbow and guided him back into the tiny bathroom, tugging his shirts off so you could see the extent of the damage. There were small lacerations all over his hands. Tutting under your breath, you moved around him to see if there was any glass left in his wounds. Beyond a splinter in one of his knuckles, it looked like most of the glass had cut and gone, so you encouraged him to sit on the closed lid of the toilet while you filled the sink with hot water. Pulling a flannel from the small pile on the edge of the bath, you dunked it into the water and knelt in front of him, taking one hand in yours and dabbing blood from the undamaged areas, working closer and closer to his cuts. As you worked, tension you could have cut with a knife filled the room and you kept your eyes fixed on his hands. Finally satisfied you had cleaned him up as best you could, you sat back on your heels, dropping the blood-stained rag into the sink.

“Y/N…”

“No, Dean.”

“You don’t even know what I was going to say!” A hint of amusement broke through his voice, and you cautiously met his eyes.

“Tell me, then.” You challenged gently, reaching for some cotton balls and antiseptic lotion.

“Thank you. For not leaving when I wanted you to. For looking after me. For sticking around and dealing with all this crap when you could go and have a normal life. As normal as hunters get, anyway.” His voice was husky, low and nervous-sounding.

“I- I literally couldn’t do anything else. I could never give up on you, Dean.” You laid chilly fingers over the mark on his arm. “This doesn’t define you. This doesn’t make the parts of you I fell in love with…this doesn’t change them. It just makes saving you even more important.” Removing your fingers from the mark, you dabbed the antiseptic into his battered knuckles.

“Still, thank you.” He reached out one hand and curled his index finger under your chin, raising you head until your eyes met his, your Y/E/C locking with his green. “I want to thank you. How can I do that?” Blood suffused your cheeks and you attempted to look away.

“I don’t need…”

“I want to make you understand what it means that you stick by me, what you mean to me. Tell me how to show you.”

“Dean, you always know exactly what to do…” You stood up, moving away from him carefully. “Although I would point out that there’re splinters and broken glass on the bed.”

“Oh…” For a moment, he looked sheepish. “There’s a spare cover in the closet, right?”

“Normally…” You frowned, looking at him in confusion.

“I’ll strip the bed and you get the spare out!” He sounded so jubilant that you let a soft laugh slip past your lips, and you carded a hand through his hair.

“Okay.”


End file.
